Welcome To My Head Canon
by bh9
Summary: My head canon one shots, please enjoy x


**Diclaimer: **I own nothing

**Summary:** My head canon of how Quinn came to sleep with Puck and gets pregnant. THIS IS QUINNTANA! It's isn't smutty, it's pretty vague in that area, more about how Quinn's feeling etc.

**Songs in this chapter:** (I advise you to listen to them as you read)

Kanye West –Love Lockdown (play when it mentions 'familiar bars of the next song')

Calvin Harris ft Florence Welch – Sweet Nothing (play when it says 'the music changes once again')

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**And It's Not Enough**

It's just past 12AM when Quinn finds herself being dragged through the crowds of the party towards Santana's bedroom. A small voice in the back of her mind acknowledges that it probably wasn't a good idea to drink on a fat day; what with the lack of food in her system and already emotional state leaving her 3 drinks past wasted and mumbling an incoherent string of truths. She'll regret this tomorrow and she knows it but right now all she can think about is the image of Santana and her blue eyed blonde dancing and touching, and the whispering of secrets that is burned into her mind; scarring the small trace of hope she'd managed to hold onto.

The fact is; she wouldn't know any of this if her eyes hadn't been pulled like a compass magnet, following the object of her affections with every movement. The night's seen nothing but a mixture of chocolate and caramel as she flits between the pools she could drown in to the skin that's almost edible from the sheen of sweat that dancing all night has left behind. Sitting across the room has been sweet torture as she watched the friends interact in their own bubble, an impenetrable force that nobody appeared to notice except the head cheerio. They didn't seem to register anything save each other, their shared glances and brief brush of hands apparent for Quinn's scrutiny; Santana's lingering eyes causing a heavy weight to build in her chest.

Forcing her eyes from the self-mutilation that came from watching the pair; she looks down at the large hand wrapped around her own, detesting the rough skin, sweaty from the heat of the party, how it doesn't fit perfectly like she imagines someone else's would. There is a frown etched into her features that she knows she'll have to hide in a few moments, not even needing her eyes open to know exactly where they are; she's walked this route almost every day since freshman year.

It's almost like they're invisible as they squeeze through the groups, everyone continuing to laugh and drink, hardly noticing the stumble in her walk as they finally begin their ascent to the second floor. It's hard to focus with the liquor's effects turning everything into a mesh of colour, a haze of movement that seems ever changing. Amidst the sweating bodies hazel hones in on the back of a head she knows belongs to Santana. She daren't flick her eyes to the side, already aware of the flash of blonde that will no doubt deflate her further if she confirms it. It'd taken her half an hour to navigate her way to the downstairs bathroom only moments ago but she finds her friend in a matter of seconds, her eyes used to the hunt after months of practice. The music is blaring as it vibrates through the walls and her heart seems to pound in time as she lets her eyes fall closed; allowing the demanding hand to steer her in the right direction, half-heartedly reaching out for the bannister.

She shouldn't be doing this.

There are ten thousand reasons to justify this; starting with the chastity ring on her finger and ending with, the hand around it doesn't belong to her boyfriend; in fact, it belongs to the distracted cheer leader's in the living room. Surprisingly, or maybe not, it's neither of these thoughts that seem to repeat in the back of her mind like an echo of her heartbeat as it thuds against her chest.

When they reach the bedroom, she finds his smirk has the opposite effect to the one she's pictured time and again. She wants to slap it right off his face but instead lets him pull her into his arms; the stench of stale beer and cigarettes almost making her gag as he holds her into him. Her eyes are on the many photos that hang on the walls and sit on the sides that help to remind her why she's even here. The liquor is burning like fire through her veins as its effects cause her mind to remain on a masochistic loop; her heart squeezing painfully with each replay.

She isn't entirely sure why it's him she chose, though she has a good idea. If she can't have what she so desperately craves, then why not return to her childish ways and take what she knows she can. This is what she tells herself, refusing to consider that maybe she would do anything to feel closer to her and who could possibly be closer, except for the blonde that's currently wrapped around her? She decides it didn't really matter; not when there's only one goal in mind and his role was pretty unsubstantial. Lifting her head from his chest, she looks up to push their lips together, registering the not so unusual height difference yet how it still made her fingers squeeze in discomfort.

She shouldn't be on her tip toes.

His lips are chapped and sloppy as they move impatiently against her own, a far cry from the soft pillows she's spent far too long staring at, never seeming anything less than perfect with their full pout and permanent gloss. Stubble rips across her skin like sandpaper and it takes a conscious effort not to grimace as she tastes the mixture of tobacco and nachos that make her stomach churn unpleasantly. Clutching onto his denim jacket, she pushes it off, a silent order to move things along. This isn't about romance; it isn't even about_ him_ so there's no need to keep a slow pace.

He seems to read the message loud and clear as he strips down to his boxers in a matter of seconds. Quinn takes longer in her sundress and cardigan, having to fumble over the strap of her shoes, almost falling until a forceful hand steadies her. He takes it upon himself to remove the material from her shoulders, backing off when she shoos him away from the buttons of her dress.

She feels self-conscious as he leers after her bare legs, hand pushing through a sweat soaked Mohawk as his eyes never fail to remain on the pale skin on show. Part of her feels victorious; quelling the inner fat girl that's body conscious paranoia couldn't be shed alongside the weight. The feeling is barely noticeable behind the aching deadweight in her chest; she isn't doing this to feel skinny, though in a few months' time it will be her only excuse.

The music can still be heard loudly; almost as though they were wearing sound cancelling headphones as Quinn makes short work of the remaining distance between her and the double bed. Sliding into the silk sheets, she's reminded of every night she's shared in them with the cause of her current heart ache; the soft fabric akin to that of newly shaved legs.

Something in her screams out how wrong it is to be in this bed, in this room considering her current company but a voice equally loud debates that this is exactly where she should be, her first time being pictured in this setting over a thousand times. Despite the fact he's never been in the fantasy, she allows the eager boy to join her and before she's even lying down, her panties are being pulled from her limp body.

For the boy above her, foreplay was a foreign word. The mixture of beer and a few wet kisses, more than an aphrodisiac for his teenage libido. Quinn can't decide if this is good or bad, much like everything else she's questioned tonight, as he wastes no time getting right down to business.

As he sets to work, each thrust is tight and painful, the foreign object pushing inside with difficulty due to her lack of arousal. Body becoming rigid, her nails dig into his skin in an attempt to silence the need to scream for him to stop. The repetitive motion leaves merely a dull shadow of pleasure lurking beneath each push, reflecting the sweet agony from each gash the shard of emotional glass, slices into her heart.

It was uncomfortable at best, her body finally losing some of it's stiffness as the familiar bars of the next song found their way to her ears. The pace is unhurried and the brash movements from before slow as each note finds her heart beating calmer, her body relaxing into the memory of when she'd first heard this song. The bass is vibrating through the frame as her hands fall to rest on the mattress, fingers gripping the sheets from the excruciating pain that's only just beginning to subside into an uncomfortable ache whilst she tries to steady herself through the sudden wave of deja vu that's overtaking her body.

Her breaths are pulled in, deep and slow, like she's biding her time until reality crashes in around her. The lyrics steal the last of her apprehension, leaving behind an empty cavern in her chest as her heart seems to cave in on itself.

_I'm not lovin' you, the way I wanted to_

_See I want to move, but can't escape from you_

_So I keep it low, keep a secret code_

_So everybody else don't have to know_

All she can hear is the melody as the lyrics imprint like ink, tattooing a permanent memory into her brain.

Her head rolls to the side, taking in a deep breath, the familiar smell instantly surrounding her. She's lost in everything Santana. From the images in her mind to the pillow covered in her perfume, it's like the body above her has lost it's weight. No longer is it the overeager footballer as the rough groping turns into soft, artistic mapping. Despite her eyes being closed, she can see Santana clearly above her, feeling the gentle caress of her lips on the curve of her neck. The shallow panting in her ear causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end, her body erupting in goose pimples, toes curling as her hands raise to slide down toned abs. Nothing's ever been this perfect but still; she needs more.

Blindly pulling the opposing pillow, it's pushed into her face, easily misinterpreted as an attempt to keep quiet as she inhales deeply; an attempt to chase the feeling from before, feel once again lost in the distinct smell she's always associated with her best friend. She knows instantly she's made a mistake, her body stiffening as she's instead smelling nothing but sickly sweet cherries. Her gut falls shamelessly to the pit of her stomach, angst rising in her chest as she throws the pillow from her face. _Brittany._ _Of course, Brittany._

The smell is sobering as within a matter of seconds her eyes are wet, a strangled gasp breaking from her lips as she tries desperately to breathe without releasing the imminent tears. The sound is misconstrued; she can practically hear the asshole smirk as she pushes against his chest. She knows he's close, his motions have increased tenfold and he can barely hold his body weight. Still, she doesn't know if she can handle another second on this bed, not after..

She says the first thing that comes to mind in an attempt to make him stop; only realising afterwards just how relevant the question is. "Are you using protection?"

He doesn't stop, if anything, his pace quickens a touch before he breathlessly replies. "Trust me babe."

Her face contorts in disgust, but before she can argue he's hunched over, body shaking as he reaches the climax he's been working towards. Quinn is quick to push him off as he collapses his body weight on top of her. Pulling out, he falls to his back, staring up to the ceiling with a smug look of pride.

She's too distraught to comment on it as she swings her feet onto the floor, straightening her clothes as the music changes once again; leaving her to wonder how it all seems so apt in this moment.

Quinn stares at the floor from her position sat on the edge of the bed. Despair is evident in her eyes, the creases in her forehead threatening to become permanent with the frantic worry that's racing around her mind. She may be more alert but the alcohol still has her arms feeling like dead weights as she tries desperately to focus on the forgotten garment at her feet. Leaning down to return the panties to their rightful place, the floor rises in slow motion to meet her; eyes squinting to keep the lace from falling back to the floor.

The realisation of what she's just done is dawning quickly as she beelines for the unlocked door, not even registering the protests being called from the bed behind. She's desperate for the oxygen that the room won't allow her, it's like suffocating as she pulls the door open. Stumbling into the railing across the landing, her head hangs over, staring blankly into the crowds below, for a second wondering if they would just swallow her up if she fell down into them. Her elbows slump on the wood as her head lifts slightly, noticing the empty bathroom that nobody is supposed to be using.

Eyes closing for the briefest of seconds, she looks back to the swarm of people that continue to dance, unaware of her helplessness before reluctantly pulling herself back in the direction of the room. She stumbles in, turning to push the door closed, head leant against the cold wood for a long moment as the images from minutes before flood her mind. Turning reluctantly, she's faced with her reflection in the huge mirror hanging above the sink. Her skin is like ash, pale and discoloured, not all that surprising given the bile that's building in the back of her throat. Mascara is smudged round her eyes from where they were closed so tightly, scrunched in an attempt to replace the sweaty boy above her with the brunette that belonged there.

She reaches out for the edge of the sink, her long, matted hair sticky with the remnants of spilt alcohol. A hand comes up to touch it, hesitating as she sees the indentations in her palm from where her fingernails were buried so deeply. It's only now she's seen it that she can acknowledge the stinging, wincing as her hand throbs with each tiny flicker of movement.

Her breath stutters as she tries in vain to gather up the oxygen her lungs are denying her; the tears that have been clinging on finally streaming down her face, dark lines of mascara staining her cheeks, reflecting the droplets of blood she's sure are falling from her broken heart. The aching in her chest refuses to cease as she bring the back of her hand to wipe the wetness clean from her cheek. Instead; it smears the black, making it even more noticeable she's been crying even though her red eyes give her away almost instantly.

The frustration builds like lava up her chest and there's nothing she can do because who can she blame other than herself? Before she's even aware of what's happening; the lonely glass from the counter top is tumbling to the floor, smashing on the tiles beneath. A small gasp falls from her lips as the loud echo silences everything for a short moment, leaving her to choke on reality. She stares at the destruction she's created, eyes almost blank as she doesn't really focus on anything in particular. It's all such a mess.. and that's without the shattered glass that glitters against the deep, blue tiles.

She retreats slowly, falling against the wall behind and sliding to the floor. Her knees pulled into her chest, she props her elbows on them, cradling her head as she lets the events of the night to truly sink in. How had she hurt so many people, so easily? Did she really resent them that much that she needed them to feel even a tenth of the pain she'd been suffering from? Her head falls back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling as she wonders when she turned into_ that _girl.

The pain in her hand is still there as she pushes up from the floor, though it's more like a sub-conscious awareness, her mind filled with nothing but her internal pain as she rises to her feet. This situation isn't entirely new to Quinn; she learnt to navigate through broken glass from a young age, her mother being prone to drop her wineglass after her first bottle was drained. Saying that, she usually wore shoes constantly with this knowledge and it was only now that she realised she'd left barefoot in her haste to escape the mistakes of the night.

Brow furrowed, she stepped cautiously, reaching the landing with barely any glass on the soles of feet. Brushing them free, she prayed the boy had moved on to someone else so she could find her shoes without having to face the reality she refused to confront tonight. Upon opening the door, she found it empty save her heels and cardigan strewn across the carpet. Gathering them up, her eyes linger on the bed, unconsciously walking towards it before dropping everything to the comforter. A hand grazed the material of the pillow, lip being worried as she finally allows herself to lift it from it's place against the head board. Bringing it to her face, she inhales deeply; instantly encompassed by the perfume that claimed it as Santana's.

As always; the feeling is like an oxymoron, the brunette always leaving her with two opposing needs, each as strong as the other, neither winning out. She wants to pull it tight to her, never leaving the haze that comes with her best friend's smell; simultaneously, she wants to throw it across the room, far from her reach as she hates herself for not being enough. A heavy sigh is muffled in the pillow before she finally returns it to it's former position, again catching her reflection in a mirror, this time in the vanity across the room. She looks a state, a complete wreck.

Walking forward; she pulls a makeup wipe from the pack on the dresser and rids her face from the spilt secrets, looking relatively normal as she steals a hair tie to pull the tangled blonde from her face. Collecting her things, along with the cell she'd left there at the beginning of the night; she leaves the room, balancing the items as she makes her way back down to the party. A steadying hand on the bannister, she zeros in on Santana. It's clear she's had a bit to drink in the time she's been absent and she wonders how the girl can continue to look so stunning with what's surely a fifth of tequila in her system.

When she smiles at the taller blonde; it feels like there's a thick wire string round her heart that's being tugged harshly, the metal having already worn through the muscle to leave a bloody slice, each tug deepening the wound as she takes in the clear adoration in Santana's eyes. She looks up into blue, like the sun rises and falls with her, and Quinn's breathe feels like fire in her lungs.

_..And every whisper, every sigh  
Eats away this heart of mine.._

She can't stand it a moment longer, pushing through the drunken bodies to reach the door. Hand turning the knob, a rush of cool air floods her, contrasting the sweaty heat that comes from inside the house. She gives one last look at her friends before stepping out onto the pavement. The front yard is like a parking lot, cars squeezed in left right and centre despite the fact they won't be driving home.

Her feet are cold against the ground as she wonders where to go from here. She was supposed to be sleeping over, that's what usually happened on nights like this but given recent events.. There's no way she could handle it. Pulling out her phone from the heel it'd been tucked into; she lets her thumb push across the screen, her brain absentmindedly guiding her to the one name she knows she can always rely on.

As her thumb hovers over the call button, her stomach churns uncomfortably. Has she really sunk this low? To be calling someone she's betrayed so badly.. Body deflating; she lets the screen go black eyes holding until the name disappears from view. The phone falls to her side along with her hand as she looks out into the dimly lit street. The music is like a rumble that can't quite be deciphered, the empty surroundings a definitive contrast to the crowded house.

She's vaguely aware that she's moving as the music becomes a distant hum and she finds herself alone on the deserted Lima paths. The silence is a comforting hug around her crowded mind as she walks the familiar path, leaving an odd sense of resignation to wash over her. This was her doing; there was nothing that would ever change that. She did this to herself and to the people she cares about; she doesn't deserve the pity she's showering herself in, much less the pity of anyone else.

Reaching her porch; she settles on the front step, belongings in a forgotten pile at her feet. She replays the night, from the intimate moments she spied on to the shimmering glass that covered the bathroom floor. Closing her eyes; she refuses to let anymore tears fall as she takes an exhausted breath, mind returning to the last lyrics that reached her ears.

_..But I'm tired of hope with nothing to hold  
I'm living on such sweet nothing.._

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**A/N:** This was going to be part of IWAY but I've decided to simply post my head canon one shots here instead. Thank you to Pensieri for the abundance of help as well as empresskris and quasi-suspect for their input. I couldn't have done this without your help so I dedicate this to you all! (This is also a belated wedding gift for you know who so enjoy :P)

**For My Soulmate 3**

Also any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Much love xo


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